Lost in sin

Juliet’s POV

Nothing prepares you for the moment you realize your survival depends on the man who destroyed your family.

I sit in the boardroom pretending to take notes, but my mind is elsewhere, circling the same bitter thought over and over. Every paycheck I earn here carries the LaRusso name stamped into it, invisible but heavy. Like blood on clean hands.

“Juliet Romano, are you even listening to me?”

My boss’s voice cuts through the haze. I blink, lifting my head too quickly. The movement earns me a few curious glances from around the long glass table. The room is sleek, modern, cold, designed to intimidate. It works.

“Yes, sir,” I say, straightening my spine. I force a professional smile, even as my fingers curl tighter around my sketchpad. “I was reviewing the floor plan adjustments.”

He studies me for half a second, then exhales like I’m already exhausting him. “Good. Because this project cannot afford mistakes. The LaRussos are investing heavily, and Mr. Ryan LaRusso will be personally reviewing your presentation.”

The name lands like a strike to the chest.

Ryan LaRusso.

For a moment, sound dulls. My pulse roars in my ears. The LaRussos, the family that dismantled my father’s company piece by piece. The family that took our name from respected to ridiculed in a single brutal year.

And now their heir is walking straight into my workspace.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

By the time the meeting adjourns, my hands are trembling. I barely make it to my desk before setting my sketchpad down too hard and sinking into my chair. I close my eyes and breathe through the tight knot in my chest.

You’re fine, Juliet. He’s just another billionaire with too much power and too little conscience. He won’t remember your name.

“Juliet,” Mia whispers, leaning over the divider with barely contained excitement. “Did you hear the news?”

I already know what she’s about to say, but I play along. “Hear what?”

She looks at me like I’m joking. “Ryan LaRusso. He’s coming in today. Apparently, he’s taking over the New York branch.”

I force a laugh that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Good for him.”

Mia scoffs. “Good for him? The man’s practically royalty. Top schools, obscene money, and have you seen him? He looks like a Greek god who owns a private jet.”

I shrug. “You’ve seen one entitled man in a tailored suit, you’ve seen them all.”

But my stomach twists tighter, betraying me.

Because I have seen a LaRusso before. Years ago. The night my father staggered into our house smelling of whiskey and defeat, his hands shaking as he said, They stole everything from me, Jules. My company. My name. My life.

And now I’m expected to design luxury spaces for the same family?

No pressure at all.

The conference room later that day smells like polished wood, expensive perfume, and quiet arrogance. I stand at the front, clicking through my slides, hyperaware of every breath I take.

“…this design allows